Grace in the blues and a memory of playing with Muddy Waters’ pianist, the great Otis Spann…
Read MoreYou say the leg support the body, but have you seen the seed in the ankle whence the body grows….
Read MoreFeathers - in hope, music, and flight
Read MorePoem written for my father on father’s day many years ago….
Read MoreMy friend and mentor, Michael Bloomfield, passed away long ago but he is an enduring, inspiring influence in my life.
Read MoreWe think we get over things. We don’t get over things….
Read MoreHow do you carry a dream in a broken world?
Read MoreOne dream does not have strength to live without all dreams, connected to things we care about.
Read MoreSoon after the quarantine began I felt like music, as much or more than words, might be helpful…
Read MoreI said to the wanting-creature inside me: “What is this river you want to cross?”….
Read MoreOn every metaphor you ride to every truth - Here the words and wordshrines of all being open up before you; here all being wishes to become word…
Read MoreA heartfelt collection of links to songs and music about love and passion
Read MoreA friend remarks to the Prophet, "Why is it I get screwed in business deals?
Read More“Every day we find a new sky and a new earth with which we are trusted like a perfect toy.”
Read MoreHands touching places never touched.
Forearms with a river flowing between two bones.
Panning for the gold in your hands,
I find reflections of everyone you’ve been –
Like a pear in underwear,
I run from spine to thigh.
Wondrous sacrum to greater trochanter go I.
Normally, no one knows I’m there.
When I touch the ribs of time in your life
Arising from your lovely chest, church’s eaves
Sing to the sky, ascending birds free of strife
Sunward heart’s hope, updraft of colored leaves.
Who took the first breath?
And who the last?
Who knew first the plants’ generosity
Enlivening the animal world?
Skin remembers how long the years grow
when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel
of singleness, feather lost from the tail…
If you love the body you must know the bone
that ribs and peoples it; deeper than flesh you feel
the beauty. That will last, simply as stone
upheaves in season where the winter rain
rakes asters and drooping cornstalks from a hill.